Stop Chasing Me, Mafia Lord!

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the dress Giovanni had bought for me a few days ago. It was a soft shade of lavender, his favorite color on me. Tonight felt special—it was my birthday, and Giovanni had been acting strange all week, slipping away to take calls, coming home late, and being unusually secretive. But I knew he was planning something.

I’d seen the receipt in his pocket when he left for work the other day. He bought an expensive ring! My heart raced every time I thought about it.

I brushed a stray curl behind my ear, glancing at the clock. He should have been home any minute. I imagined how tonight would go. Maybe he’d take me somewhere special, or we’d stay in, and he’d propose. The thought of him slipping a ring on my finger, sealing our future together, made me giddy. I could already hear his voice, “Samara, will you marry me?”

Smiling, I tried not to get too ahead of myself. Giovanni always knew how to make me feel special, even if I couldn’t remember everything about our past. I guessed, I would just wait for him.

I walked into the living room, humming softly to myself. The TV was on in the background, and I absentmindedly flipped through the channels, waiting for him to call or text. My phone buzzed, but it was just a work email. Still nothing from Giovanni. I sighed, deciding to sit and wait.

That was when I saw it.

The screen flashed to life with images of fireworks lighting up the night sky. The camera panned over a familiar face—and my heart sank. Giovanni was there, standing beside a woman, smiling as the fireworks exploded above them.

It was Anya. The woman he swore was just a friend.

I felt the color drain from my face. My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, dialing his number before I could stop myself. He answered on the second ring, his voice calm, like nothing was wrong.

“Giovanni, where are you?” My voice trembled, and I hated how weak it sounded.

“I’m at the office. I’ve been swamped with work. You know how it is,” he replied smoothly.

I froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. There he was, standing with Anya while fireworks burst in the sky above them, and he was telling me he was working. My chest tightened, the air in the room suddenly too thick. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Are you sure about that?” I asked, feeling the words stick in my throat.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Of course. Why?”

I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion and betrayal. Was this why he’d been distant? Was this why he’d been so secretive? Not because he was planning something for me, but because he was with her?

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to stay calm. "I saw the news."

There was silence on the other end. Then, he cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “You’re not working, Giovanni. You’re with Anya.”

The silence that followed was deafening. For a moment, I thought maybe I’d imagined it all. Maybe I’d misread the situation. But no. The truth was right in front of me.

“I can explain,” Giovanni finally said, but his words sounded empty, like a hollow promise.

I stood up, pacing the room as the tears finally spilled over. “Explain? What is there to explain? You lied to me! You promised she was just a friend, but now you’re out there with her, setting off fireworks while I’m here—waiting for you.”

“Samara, please. It’s not what you think—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “I thought... I thought we had something real. I believed you when you told me I was your girlfriend, that we were going to build a life together. But now I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

“Samara, don’t do this. I love you.”

“No, Giovanni. You don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be with her right now.” My chest ached with every word, but I couldn’t stop. “I can’t do this anymore. We’re done.”

I hung up before he could say anything else. The silence in the room was suffocating. My birthday. The day I thought he might propose. And instead, I was left standing here, broken.

I collapsed onto the couch, burying my face in my hands as the sobs finally overtook me. All I could think about was how foolish I’d been to believe him. To believe in us. How could I have been so blind? I had built my world around him. He was all I had. And now it was all falling apart.

I took a deep breath and looked at the receipt again—the ring he bought for someone. It was clear now. It was never meant for me.

Tears streamed down my face as I whispered to myself, “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Anya's birthday was the day after mine, and I was sure she and Giovanni had already celebrated it earlier. The thought lingered in the back of my mind, but I didn’t want to feel bitter about it. I couldn’t let myself break down, not today. Instead, I chose to focus on my work, burying myself in tasks that would keep my mind busy. If I just kept going, if I kept my head down, maybe I wouldn’t think about them.

But that didn’t last long.

I was halfway through answering emails when I heard a knock at my door. I groaned, thinking it was just another package or delivery, but when I opened it, there stood Palmer, his familiar, teasing grin in place.

"Hey, Sam," he said, leaning against the doorframe casually, as if he hadn’t just shown up unannounced. "Guess what day it is?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I don’t have time for guessing games, Palmer. I’m busy."

"You’re always busy. But today’s special. It’s Anya’s birthday, and I came to pick you up."

My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was to go to Anya’s party. The idea of being surrounded by people who would compare me to her, people who already saw me as second place, was more than I could handle. Not to mention Giovanni would be there, probably hanging off her every word. Just the thought of it made my chest tighten.

"I’m not going," I said, crossing my arms.

Palmer didn’t budge. "Oh, yes, you are."

"No, I’m not." I turned away, intending to close the door, but he stepped inside, preventing me from shutting it.

"Come on, Samara, it’s just a party. You can’t avoid them forever. And if you don’t come, I’ll just stay here and annoy you until you give in."

I sighed, glaring at him. Palmer could be relentless when he wanted something, and right now, he seemed determined. I could argue all day, but I knew he wasn’t going to back down.

"Fine," I muttered. "But I’m only going because you’re giving me no choice."

"That’s the spirit!" he said, his grin widening.

I regretted my decision the moment we pulled up to the venue. It was some upscale, glitzy event space—exactly the kind of place Anya would celebrate. The building sparkled with lights, and the crowd was buzzing, dressed in their finest. I tugged at the hem of my dress, suddenly feeling out of place.

"Let’s just get this over with," I muttered as we walked inside.

The second we entered, it felt like all eyes were on us. Or maybe just on me. I spotted Giovanni almost immediately, standing by the bar with a drink in hand, chatting and laughing with Anya. She looked stunning, of course, like she always did—her long, dark hair flowing down her back, her dress hugging every curve perfectly. And then there was me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a crowd that didn’t seem to notice I was shrinking into myself.

"Samara! You made it!" Anya’s voice rang out over the crowd, and I forced a smile as she walked over, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

"Yeah, couldn’t miss it," I said, my voice a little tighter than I intended.

She hugged me briefly, and as she pulled back, her eyes roamed over my dress, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You look...cute," she said, in that way people do when they were trying to sound kind but were really judging you.

"Thanks," I mumbled, already wishing I stayed home.

As the night went on, it became harder to ignore the whispers. I could hear them—people comparing me to her. Saying how Anya had everything. How Giovanni was practically devoted to her. How I could never measure up. Every comment felt like a punch to the gut, and I tried my best to avoid looking at her and Giovanni together, but it was impossible.

He never took his eyes off her. They looked perfect together, like they belonged in some magazine spread. Every smile they shared, every touch, felt like a reminder that I wasn’t part of that world. That I didn’t belong.

At one point, Palmer nudged me. "You okay?"

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, totally. Just... overwhelmed."

But I wasn’t okay. I felt like I was shrinking more and more by the second. Like the walls were closing in, and I couldn’t escape. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t belong here, and I definitely didn’t belong in Giovanni’s life anymore.

The final straw was when someone—one of Anya’s friends, I think—came up to me, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You’re so brave for coming here. It must be hard, seeing them acting sweet in front of you."

I stared at her, not sure if I wanted to scream or cry. Instead, I just nodded, my voice barely a whisper. "Yeah. It’s hard."

I couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, I slipped away from the crowd, heading for the exit. Palmer called after me, but I didn’t stop. I needed air. I needed to get out of there before I completely fell apart.

As I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my face, and I took a deep breath. I had never felt so humiliated, so small. I was never supposed to come here. What was I thinking? Trying to act like I could handle this, like I could just move on.

But the truth was, I wasn’t over it. I wasn’t over him. And maybe I never would be.

Since the day I woke up from the coma, Giovanni was the only one who came to visit me. At first, it felt comforting, knowing someone was there, that someone cared. But with time, I noticed the absence of others—the cold, empty hospital room, the silence that stretched for days. I didn’t know my family, didn’t remember them, so it wasn’t a surprise they weren’t around. But it stung a little to realize how alone I truly was.

Giovanni, though, he was always there. Or at least, he used to be. Now, things were different.

His friends—our friends, as he liked to call them—never warmed to me. They made it clear I was an outsider. Every time I was around them, the tension thickened, their eyes flicking between me and Giovanni like I didn’t belong. I could feel the judgment, the whispers behind my back. Anya was their choice for him, not me. Anya, with her perfect life and flawless reputation.

I knew they were rooting for her. It didn’t matter what I felt, what Giovanni had promised me. In their eyes, I wasn’t enough. I had no name, no family, no status. I wasn’t the girl they wanted for him. I tried to ignore it, to brush off their comments, but tonight, it was too much.

I half-expected Giovanni to come after me, to pull me back and ask what was wrong. But he didn’t. He didn’t even notice. How could he when he barely looked in my direction.

That hurt more than anything. The weight of it settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating.

When I got home, I felt numb. I couldn’t keep pretending this was going to work. I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine being a shadow in someone else’s life. Giovanni had made his choice—maybe not in words, but in actions. And his actions screamed that I wasn’t the one he truly wanted.

I started packing my things. Clothes, shoes, a few personal items. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. I couldn’t stay here anymore. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do, but anywhere was better than staying in this limbo.

As I shoved the last of my things into my suitcase, my hands trembled with frustration and pain. I wasn’t going to wait around for Giovanni to choose me.

Dragging my suitcase, I stepped out into the night, the city lights flickering like distant stars. The air was cool against my skin, the quiet streets a stark contrast to the noise swirling inside my head.

I walked aimlessly, trying to clear my thoughts, my mind buzzing with everything that had happened. I didn’t see the car speeding toward me. All I heard was the screech of tires, the blinding headlights rushing at me.

For a moment, time froze. I stood there, paralyzed, my body unable to move as the car came closer, inches from impact. It wasn’t until the last second that I stumbled backward, barely missing the collision by what felt like mere inches.

My heart raced, my legs shaking beneath me. I stood there on the sidewalk, panting, staring at the car as it sped off into the night, disappearing around a corner without a second thought.

I almost died, but it seemed it wasn't my time yet.

I started walking again, my legs still shaky from the near miss, but I stopped in my tracks when something strange caught my eye.

A black envelope lay on the ground, right where the speeding car had almost run me over. It definitely wasn’t there before. My breath caught in my throat as I bent down to pick it up. Something about it felt wrong. The envelope itself was smooth, expensive even, the kind of thing you’d expect for a formal invitation. But I was certain—the car had left it behind.

I hesitated for a moment before tearing it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was sharp, angular, like someone had deliberately taken their time with each stroke.

[Leave while you can, or you won’t be so lucky next time.]